


Gilded Cage

by Sealie



Series: 'Uhane [10]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 17:39:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6714520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealie/pseuds/Sealie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gilded cage is still a cage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gilded Cage Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: slash, PG  
> Warning: none spring out to me. No squicks, either, I think.  
> Comments: British English spelling  
> Spoilers: none  
> Notes: Sentinel AU fusion with a different socio-political universe to canon –‘Uhane verse.  
> Disclaimer: writing for fun not for profit.  
> Beta: Springwoof is brilliant -- Thank you.

**Gilded Cage.**  
By sealie

“Thanksgiving.” Steve finished drying his hands with the dish towel -- Danny was never going to break him of the habit -- and tossed it on the kitchen counter. 

“What?” Danny asked. “What about it?” 

“If we go to ‘Aina over the Thanksgiving weekend, we’ll be less likely to be interrupted by denizens of Sentinel Central.” 

“Eh?”

“I thought about going over Christmas,” Steve said. “But, one, you have Gracie and George, and, two, not every sentinel, or sentinel and guide team, celebrates Christmas.”

“Denizens?” 

“Is that what you’re bumping on? “ Steve rolled his eyes. “There’s infrastructure in place on Guide Island, but because Sentinel Central wants to keep the island mysterious, all staff change overs, supplies, new guides, and sentinel and guide teams go direct to ‘Aina. No planes come through Honolulu, all flights go straight to the island. The flights, however, are predictable.”

“Chin’s been monitoring flight schedules for you?” 

“No, he’s reconstructed the flights’ schedules based on historical patterns. If we go at Thanksgiving, there’s a chance that we’ll be off the island before anyone flies from the Mainland to intercept us.” 

“How long?” Danny asked pragmatically. 

“Twelve to eighteen hours. Longer, if we’re lucky with a weather system.”

“Why don’t we wait for a hurricane?” 

“They’re not that predictable, especially in this part of the world.” Steve said. “We don’t want to get stuck there. Or not even make it there.” 

“So I’m giving up my Thanksgiving for you?”

“For us.” Steve pouted.

oo000oo

**‘Aina**

Danny fixed the golden Chopec Eye badge on his collar. Left hand side, perfectly situated. The seat in the cockpit was unfortunately missing a drop down eye shield with an embedded mirror. He could however, tell that the sentinel badge was set correctly. They had another ten minutes and they would be landing on the guide island of ‘Aina; it was time to get ready.

“How come you get a badge? I don’t get a badge.” Steve sulked from the pilot’s seat. 

“What? A Chopec mouth?” Danny bared his teeth. 

“I think,” Steve said introspectively, “that would be more appropriate for you.” 

Danny stuck his tongue out. 

“Yeah, but really,” Steve continued, “why the badge? I’ve never seen you wear one before. Not even when we came here before.” 

“It’s protective colouration--” 

“You’ve been watching nature documentaries with Gracie again, haven’t you?” 

“And,” Danny said dramatically, “I have learned. The sentinels see my badge and relax: I’m a good guy; I have a guide; no competition, which all signals that I’m part of Sentinel Central.” 

Steve blew out a deeply unimpressed raspberry. 

“You could have come in your Navy uniform with all your badges, if you’re really needing a badge. I mean, that could have been educational, show the baby guides that you can be all that you can be.” 

“That’s Army. Navy is _Non sibi sed patria_.”

“Which is?” His guide liked flaunting his intellect. 

“Not for self but for country.”

“Seems guide appropriate – you know: serving.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “That’s funny -- sentinel and guides serve.”

“Still, you could have worn your uniform,” Danny said. 

“Kind of defeats the objective of us appearing to be a typical sentinel and guide pair,” Steve said. 

“I could get you a leash?” 

“Kinky,” Steve drawled. “There’s so much that I don’t know about Sentinel Central -- really, leashes? Outstanding.” 

Danny sucked noisily on his teeth. 

“I’m actually surprised that that isn’t part of the arrangement.” The banter between them died at Steve’s words. He was suddenly overly distracted by the array of information on the console, monitoring their approach to ‘Aina. 

“It is curious, though,” Danny said, not letting Steve avoid the discussion that had started. “I mean, why don’t you get a badge, insignia or something?”

“It’s part of the mentality.” Steve twiddled a toggle. “Guides are there to support the sentinel; they have no agency of their own. Subtle, but telling.” 

Danny reached for the insignia. 

“Nah, leave it,” Steve said. “You’re right, we’re going there to get intel, setting people’s backs up won’t help with that. We can do that next week.” 

_“Flight 76 out of Honolulu, this is ‘Aina SC control, you do not have permission to land at ‘Aina. This air space is protected by Pan North Accords under the aegis of Sentinel Central, and is an independent, private area.”_

“‘Aina Control, this is Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett, Flight 76. Please check with your flight manager. Governor Denning, of the State of Hawaii, has contacted the Director of ‘Aina and we have permission to be in your airspace. I formally request permission to land.” Steve flashed a look at Danny. “Thank you.” 

Danny gave him the thumbs up -- he could be taught. 

Steve continued gamely on their way. As near as Danny could tell, the Governor’s plane did ninety nine percent of the flying. Steve was just there in case there was an emergency, which, given that there was a Steve at the controls, was incredibly likely – it made Danny’s stomach churn. 

_“Flight 76, you have permission to land._

“Thank you, ‘Aina Control,” Steve said politely. 

_“Follow heading….”_

Danny tuned them out. He leaned out of his seat, peering towards the back of the plane. 

“Guys? We’re gonna be landing, I guess you need to put your seatbelts on or something,” he said. It wasn’t his job to be the flight attendant. He was the co-pilot. 

“Thank you, Detective Williams,” Dr. Mossarat Chohan said politely. 

“Okay, brah,” Chin chimed in. 

“I told you to call me Danny, Dr. Chohan,” Danny said pointedly. 

“Yes, Danny, and you should call me Mossarat,” their too young doctor, from Dr. Grumpy Bundaberg’s unofficial sentinel and guide research group, returned. 

Danny dropped back into his seat and clapped his hands together. 

“This,” he said drolly, “is going to be awesome.” 

             ~*~

“Who are these people?” Director Archer stood tall, easily having three or four inches on Steve, hands clasped behind her back. 

“Chin’s a member of my team. And Mossy--” she was going to kill him later, Danny knew, or there would be hurt, pointed looks, “--is our intern. She’s harmless.” 

Mossarat wriggled her fingers in a tiny wave. Topping a bare five foot, dressed in a flowing, embroidered teal shirt and trousers, her long black hair caught up in a darker blue scarf, she was the epitome of unthreatening.

“Why?” Archer asked directly. 

The deceased, previous co-ordinator, Mrs. Malone, had been replaced by Director Frieda Archer, sentinel. All in all, it was a study in contrasts. Danny’s first impression of both physically completely different women had been: efficient and terrifying. Mrs. Malone had been scary in an _I’ll eat your soul for breakfast_ kind of way. Director Archer was big enough to pick up Danny by the scruff of his neck and shake him like a kitten if he misbehaved. She would find out, if she tried, that he had sharp claws like their kitten, Diamond.

She cocked an eyebrow. And Danny stared at her right back. 

“Chin’s on my team,” Danny said uncompromisingly. “Mossarat is under my tutelage.” 

“You’ll have to leave your weapons on the plane,” Director Archer said. 

“I don’t go unarmed,” Danny returned. 

“Guide McGarrett,” Archer finally acknowledged Steve at Danny’s side. 

Steve’s jaw twitched. Silently, he withdrew his Sig from the holster at his back. 

“And the ankle holster, guide.” 

Deliberately, slowly, Steve squatted, and removed the smaller Kel-Tec PMR-30 from under his cargo pant leg. 

“Nice,” Archer said, inadvertently. 

Steve flashed her a naughty smile. 

“Steven,” Danny chided. 

“I’ll go put these in the plane.” Steve executed a perfect parade ground turn and marched away. 

“Chin?”

Chin held up both hands. “Already locked away, Sentinel Williams.” 

“Gun?” Mossarat squeaked. “I don’t have a gun.”

“Governor Denning did not explain why he requested that you be allowed to visit ‘Aina,” Archer said. 

Danny rocked forwards on his toes. 

“Well, the Governor feels that, given the repeated requests from Sentinel Central on the Mainland, which unfortunately he can’t meet, it would be beneficial if we spent a day looking around the facility. You know--” Danny looked down his nose at the considerably taller woman, “--actually find out if there would be any benefit in a closer liaison.” 

Steve clattered down the Lear jet’s steps, jumping the last two. He smiled, widely. 

“You were trained at the Pan North sentinel facility in New York State on the East Coast.” Archer said. 

“True, but, you know, I didn’t really listen.” Danny shrugged. “I’d been a sentinel for more than five years before I went to the East boarding school, and luckily it was close enough so I went home most weekends.”

“You manifested as a baby?” Archer blinked. 

“Yeah,” Danny said faux-absently. “About two, I don’t really remember.” 

“Hmmm.” 

Danny smiled with all his teeth. He had finished all his sentinel training by the time he had been eleven. Each year, his class size had been small, by nature, since there simply weren’t a lot of prepubescent sentinels. For several years he, and the two other early manifestors, had sat in with the older students by dint of the fact that there were only three of them. By the time he had become an adolescent, it had been old, boring hat. He had usually used the classes for studying. 

Steve, head cocked to the side, was studying him. 

“And your training, Guide McGarrett?”

“Perhaps we could take this off the tarmac?” Danny waved a hand. “Or are we going home? I mean, we could be back home in an hour or so, and enjoying Thanksgiving. It was our only free weekend, but my kids will be tickled to see me and my guide.” 

Archer’s eyes were an icy blue. 

“No, I’m happy to give you a tour of the facility.” Archer suddenly smiled and her whole demeanour warmed. 

“Thank you,” Steve smiled winningly back at her. 

             ~*~

Steve trailed after the two sentinels. Their behaviour was certainly intriguing. He didn’t know how much of Danny’s bossiness was an act and how much was him stepping to the forefront. En route, they had discussed how they would explain Mossarat and Chin’s presence. Steve had thought that the _sentinel’s team_ explanation lacked veracity. Danny had sold it. Both Chin and Mossarat had automatically bowed to Danny’s authority. Steve kind of liked to see it, but he wasn’t going to entertain it off ‘Aina. He was the leader of 5O. Yet, he knew that Danny was his equal. 

_Hmmm._

As a sentinel, Danny was really secure. Yet, he could be so very, very pessimistic. 

“Babe?” Danny said softly, very softly. 

“Yeah?” Steve stretched up to better see Danny at the head of their little line -- they had Chin and Mossarat sandwiched between them. Dense hibiscus bushes hemmed either side of the path as they cut through the trees to the main school building. Steve clocked them as endemic Ma'o Hau Hele – rare and needing skilful cultivation. The whole area was carefully, and precisely maintained. 

“Nothin’.”

Archer observed them. 

Danny’s grin back at her was cheeky. The fact that she was stunningly tall, easily six foot four, completely confident in her androgynous demeanour, didn’t derail Danny in the slightest. 

You had to hate sentinels just fractionally because they were űber, self-assured asses trained from birth to believe that they were the best of a best. People believed that they were awesome, so they were. Steve was confident in his own abilities, you didn’t get to become a SEAL by being shy and retiring. But, well, he was used to hiding large portions of his self. 

Last time he had been on ‘Aina, he had, he could admit to himself now, been terrified. The night before he had ran a half marathon so that he would be tired enough to sleep. He had prepared, mentally, as if planning an operation. The focus had been on the case -- the death of Professor Akeakamai Iona -- one hundred percent on the case. By the time he had reached the island, he could almost view the baby guides as interesting specimens under a microscope. It had helped that he wasn’t the guide that he was now, and, everyone had been slavishly focused on Danny, the sentinel who didn’t have a guide and was visiting them.

They had all wanted Danny. 

And he was his. 

Steve smiled. 

Now, however -- returning to matters at hand -- they were to find out as much as they could in a dash and grab about guides and Empathic Sensory Overload syndrome. The op was designed to help him. Part of Steve just wished that he could ask -- yet, he knew in his heart of hearts, that while Sentinel Central knew that his empathic abilities were overtly different than the norm, he did not want them to know his true capabilities. That he had the syndrome, was possibly, actually protecting him. A guide without the syndrome would be a powerful creature indeed. Yet, he had controlled upwards of forty intense reporters during the advent of the tsunami incident and hadn’t crashed until he had stopped dead a gang of rapists and looters days later. 

Danny said that he used the projective empathy inadvertently. He knew that he did, but separating atypical manipulation from simply being charming was difficult. As a child, he had realised that he could make people do what he wanted them to. It had been a one-on-one interaction and it had been creepy, and even as a toddler he had realised that it was dishonourable. So he had stopped. As a result he had spent months with a speech therapist. He had figured out years later that he had been communicating on an internal level, and cutting off his empathic manipulation as a kid had forced him to start to use his voice to explain what he wanted. 

If he hadn’t decided not to manipulate people, he probably would have been identified as a guide, like Danny, as a pre-schooler. 

The upshot was that now, he was kind of shit at the guide part of the sentinel equation. 

They stepped out from under the shaded path to skirt a grassy open area that was surprisingly free of lounging students and uncoordinated Frisbee games. Steve inhaled through his nose and out through his mouth. He sent out an empathic pulse of intent, pinging the environment around him. Danny tripped over an invisible crack in the pavement, but waved Archer off as she automatically reached to steady him. Neither Chin nor Mossarat reacted to the pulse, both as mundane as the day was long. 

The world was a glow. A spider web of bright white and silver light raced across the heavens, but the spiders who spun the webs were all drugged on caffeine. Guides -- everyone, in fact -- formed attachments that were lit brightly. Danny’s dad had said that he could spot Steve’s guidehood by sensing feelers, which Steve interpreted as the pinging that he primarily did to perceive the overlay of people’s bonds. Danny’s dad had been brightly linked to his wife, children, and grandchildren --both in the immediate proximity and back on the east coast of North America. The array of scintillating light around him was a mess of guides making friends and forming relationships with their peers and remembering a few parents and sibs left behind before they had been conscripted by Sentinel Central. 

Steve could almost reach out and touch the magic. 

He resisted, as he always did, because, honestly, he knew that he could take them and break them into little bits of pain and hurt. 

“Babe?” 

Flicking his sight further to see auras awoke an aurora akin the northern lights that he had seen in the high latitudes of Arctic Pan North. The display was spectacular. The building ahead was a cathedral of light. Auras were emanating outside of the structure vying upwards. So many guides resided within. 

What was that building? Normally, only shrines and churches, radiated on that level. Albeit Halawa and the Police Department presented an interesting blot of colour against his senses. 

“Babe!” 

“Danny?” Steve blinked. 

Lock it down, Danny ordered, right in his face. 

“Lovely island,” Steve said. 

Archer cocked an eyebrow. “Are you well?” 

“I get motion sickness,” Steve said glibly, not really lying. 

“Perhaps,” she scrutinised him, and Steve did not like the level of scrutiny, “you could lie down in my office.” 

“Nah, it’s better if he walks it off,” Danny said to his fellow sentinel. And, honestly, the bossiness was unpalatable. 

“If you know best.” Archer turned away to continue leading them to the cathedral ahead. 

Danny pointed his finger at Steve and shook it, sharply -- _Behave_ \-- before following the woman. 

Steve shrugged, because he used the skills available to him. Chin shook his head once and set off after Danny. Mossy was practically biting her bottom lip. They couldn’t speak when there was a Valkyrie of a sentinel within normal earshot. The scrunch of her nose and pursed lips asked an obvious question, but Steve could only answer it by smiling. 

“I’m kind of guessing that you’ve got loads to do,” Danny was saying up ahead, “Thanksgiving Dinner and stuff. Is there someone, I dunno, who can give us a tour?” 

Archer considered that proposal with an undue amount of gravitas. 

“Yes, that would be helpful,” she said finally. “My duties don’t stop because it’s Thanksgiving, and I also have a dinner to host.” 

“There you go.” Danny smiled with all of the charm that he could display. 

“This way.” Archer strode ahead towards the cathedral of auras, and perforce they followed. 

A veritable covey of guides were in an auditorium in the centre of the building. To be accurate, it was a rectangular open space, which was surrounded by the red, tiled roofed rooms and corridors that made up the School for Guides. A retractable roof made it ideal for the temperamental weather of the mid-Pacific. Today the weather was fine, so the roof above their head reached the heavens, hence the mess of auras spilling high. 

Tables were being set out in preparation for the Thanksgiving meal later in the day. A large screen had also been erected. 

“Hannah!” Archer called out. 

A young woman whipped around, her focus latching on the director with pin point accuracy. She sprinted over without further instruction, her long reddish hair streaming behind her. 

“Yes, ma’am?” 

“This is Sentinel Williams from O'ahu.” 

“Pleased to meet you, sir.” She nodded, fixing a pale, washed-out hazel gaze on him. 

“Danny,” he offered. 

“Sir.” 

“Sentinel Williams and his team are visiting the island today. Please conduct them around the facility.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” She yanked a beige boonie hat over her head. “Is there any--” 

“I think,” Archer said, her voice a hundred times stronger than Hannah’s, “It would be beneficial for Guide McGarrett to meet the students.” 

“I’m… uhm… not too…” Danny began. 

“Since you are here to improve relationships and for your untrained guide to find out more about Sentinel Central.” She cocked an eyebrow. 

Huh? Steve thought. She had asked about his training not ten minutes previously, but now she knew that he was essentially untrained. He couldn’t see a comm, but she was a sentinel and could be picking up information from anywhere. 

The woman was urbane and smooth as marble. Whilst splitting the team was in no way desirable, there was an advantage in that if the guide, Hannah, was conducting Chin around he would have the opportunity to do what he was here to do, which was unlikely under the direct scrutiny of Director Archer. 

In all honesty, meeting with the guides could be interesting. He had only really spent time with Danny’s dad. Sentinel teams in military service had their own distinct branch; they did not integrate. Occasionally, while on deployment, he had briefly operated with an S-Team, but sentinels kept their guides under a metaphorical lock and key. It had been easy to not spend more than a moment with them. 

He was now an identified guide -- brand new world.

Probably wasn’t the best idea to ping anyone. 

“Could be informative,” Steve said. 

“Allow me to introduce you to some of the students, Guide McGarrett.” Archer extended her hand towards the kids working. 

_Okay, maybe this isn’t a good idea._

             ~*~

Steve helped two kids -- one of indeterminate gender, very small, white and weedy, and a charming, taller boy from Africa -- move a table, jockeying for the best position to see the screen. Bade’s presence on ‘Aina was a little mystery since there was a second guide facility on the Island of Reunion in the Indian Ocean, which served Africa and the lower Mediterranean, or there was Skye, where guides from northern European countries in the Pan North confederation generally attended. Peanut was clearly his best friend and _vice versa_ ; the bond was strong and clear. 

“Why the moving?” Steve asked. They had both been struggling with a table big enough for the entire Walton family before he had offered to help. Archer had handed him off to another young guide, but she had been in charge of setting up the auditorium for the Thanksgiving dinner and had been hauled off to help with organising before they had been hardly introduced. 

“We want the best view of the film.” Bade flashed a bright grin. 

“Oh?”

“‘Indiana Jones and the Sentinels of Atlantis,’” Peanut whispered. 

“The what?” Steve stooped slightly to hear more clearly. 

“‘Indiana Jones and the Sentinels of Atlantis!’” Bade said gleefully. “The new series with Chris Evans. I can’t wait to see it.” 

“I’m not familiar.” 

“But you’ve got a sentinel. You’re not in school. Aren’t you allowed to go to the movies?” Bade asked. “I mean, I get you’d probably have to go to the special showings, but you are allowed, aren’t you?” 

Steve took a moment to parse the rapidly delivered sentence. 

“One, I can go to the movies anytime I want. I don’t need permission; we’re partners, not superior and subordinate. Two, I don’t even know what a special showing is? Three, movies, not really my thing.” 

Bade and Peanut shared a speaking stare of confusion. 

“Well, it’s safer,” Bade said. “Sentinels have special low stimuli showings of movies, in the autism spectrum presentation that all complexes by law have to provide. And you’d be going with your sentinel…?” 

Steve thought back to their latest Battlestar Galactica boxset marathon with the volume turned up (he liked the whoosh of the vipers), which they had both enjoyed. 

“Trust your guts, kids,” Steve said. “I’ve been to the movies with Danny and we didn’t need a special showing. We’ve been in actual firefights and explosions and we handled it.”

“But?” Peanut whispered. 

“Danny, my sentinel, doesn’t zone much at all.” In all honesty, Steve thought ruefully, Danny had probably zoned more since they had met compared to his previous life. “It’s got to be a pretty significant disruption of his senses for him to zone.” 

“Like what?” Bade said. 

“Last one was a lightning blast and thunder clap in close proximity.” Steve pointed at the next table over. “About there.” 

“So if you’re not there for him to use as a bonded baseline, what do you do?” Bade asked. 

Steve pondered. 

“Is he a five sense sentinel?” Peanut asked into the silence, trying to find understanding. 

“Oh, yeah, all five senses.” Steve waved his hand over his tummy à la Danny. “Oh, we’re bonded.”

A delightfully resonant bond that speared him low in his gut, which he wasn’t going to talk to two little kids about. 

“But what do you do?” Bade asked, so confused Steve could almost reach out and touch it. 

“We work together. We’re cops catching bad guys. Governor’s taskforce -- 5O.”

“Police? You’re a policeman?” Bade checked. He flicked a glance at Peanut to make sure that they were both hearing correctly. 

“Yeah. And before I took over the taskforce, I was a Lieutenant Commander in the Pan North Navy.”

“With your sentinel?” Bade offered. 

“Nope,” Steve popped the ‘p’ echoing Danny. “I was a Lieutenant Commander in SEAL Team 3. I saw service throughout all populated lands.” 

“What’s a lieutenant commander?” Peanut asked. 

“It’s a rank in the navy. I was… I am a commissioned officer.” How did you explain to a little kid with no frame of reference? “I have led teams and I have been an executive officer on a warship.” 

“That’s just manic.” Bade rocked up on his toes and extended his fist. “Kobo, dude.”

The idiom passed Steve by, but you’d have to be dense not to know that Bade was impressed. Steve knocked their fists together. 

“I didn’t know that guides could be in the Navy,” Peanut said. 

That was a whole other discussion for another day. Time, Steve figured, for a gauche redirection. 

“So what do you guys learn here at guide school? There’s no sentinels, hardly?” Steve looked around for magically appearing sentinels. 

“Oh, there’s sentinels,” Bade said, grinning. “Yeah, they’re bonded to guide teachers.”

“And you work with the sentinels preparing for your own?” 

“We get to see a zone.” Bade nodded fervently. “We practice talkin’ a sentinel through a zone or providing gentle stimuli. Other stuff.” 

“Dials?” Peanut said, softly. 

“Dials?” Steve cocked his head to the side. He knew what they were, of course. Danny utilised the imaginary constructs. 

“Dials are like fundamental.” Bade rocked back on his heels, seguing now into confusion. The kid was bouncy. 

“What else do you learn?” Steve continued. “Care and feeding of sentinels?” 

“They need a carefully regimented diet, no processed foods,” Peanut said irrefutably. 

Steve manfully withheld a snort. Danny had a complex and intimate relationship with sugar and deep fried food. 

“What about what you guys need,” Steve asked, “diet wise?” 

“We have to eat healthily to be best fitted to help our sentinel. High protein, low carbohydrate, healthy fats, high fibre. Makes sense.” Bade nodded. 

And it did, but the guide’s diet was only seen through the sentinel lens, and it was more a method of controlling them if (nominally) they didn’t need to have a regimented diet. 

Peanut was staring at him. Steve wondered what the tiny guide could see. 

Steve did indeed need a regimented diet to assuage his ESO. 

“You eat a lot of fish?” Steve asked. He needed fish, but Danny could take it or leave it, preferring steak. It was likely that the guide facility carefully controlled their charges’ food, tailoring it to their nutritional and biochemical needs. Steve didn’t think for one minute that Sentinel Central didn’t study guides to the nth degree. 

“Yes.” Peanut licked her lips.

“My sentinel,” Steve said carefully, “actually modifies his diet for my benefit, instead of the other way around.” 

“Whoa,” Bade breathed 

Steve waggled his eyebrows. 

“‘Cos, you know,” Steve emphasised, “we’re partners.” 

It was a little heavy handed, but Steve figured Peanut was maybe ten-eleven, and Bade, a stringy thirteen year old. 

Peanut was hunkered down a fraction as if preparing for battle.

“I’ll introduce you to Danny when he comes back. You’ll like him.” And he’s great with kids, Steve thought. 

“Are you staying?” Bade asked. 

“Just visiting for the day. Meeting you guys. Danny and my team are getting a tour.” 

“Meeting us?” Bade pointed at his own chest, a little confused. 

“Other guides,” Steve clarified. “Lots of guides.” 

“Oh, so we should introduce you to people?” Peanut brightened, clearly happier to have a defined role. 

“I guess.” Steve scooped his hand towards the other people busy with tasks. 

“Mostly attendants,” Bade said. “I mean we’re helping because we were….”

“Naughty,” Peanut whispered. 

And Steve had totally bypassed them to help the kids – the guide kids. That stood to reason; the kids had been struggling. But he could have loaned a hand to the young woman who was weighted down by too heavy a box. Bade was correct, there were other guides helping with the set up, but they weren’t all students. Faculty, Steve guessed. There were more mundanes -- the attendants -- than guides. 

“So where are most of the guides? The students?” 

“Classes. Classes until midday.” 

“On Thanksgiving, seems a little unfair?” 

“That’s an American thing,” Bade said, accent growing lyrical.

Peanut shrugged, disavowing any knowledge of Thanksgiving traditions. 

“How long have you guys been here?” 

Peanut shrugged again. “Forever?” 

Bade held up two fingers. “Years.” 

“You guys get Christmas don’t you?” Steve asked. 

“I’m not a Christian,” Bade said. “But, yeah, Christmas happens.” 

“Jewish.” Peanut said. “I get Hanukah.” 

“And your other holidays?” 

“They’re all--” Bade’s nose scrunched as he thought for the word, “--like shortened. But everyone gets their traditions.”

“Truncated, because otherwise it would always be someone’s holiday?”

“I guess?” Bade seemed a little unsure. 

“I figure--” because Steve was also on unsure ground, “--that’s fair?”

The kids shrugged. 

“Uh, you wanted to meet us? ‘Cos you haven’t met a lot of other guides.” Peanut made a step to the side. 

She or he -- Steve wasn’t too sure -- was a perceptive little thing. 

“Yes. You’ve finished your penance?” Steve asked. 

Bade grinned widely, teeth white against his dark, equatorial skin. 

“Ahah, clever, you wanted to help so you could jockey your table into the best position. Crafty.” Steve held his palm out. 

“Got it in one.” Bade slapped his smaller hand against Steve’s. 

             ~*~

The tour was infinitely easier with a guide leading the way. _Can we see the library?_ Danny said and they got to see the library. _Oh, a database? How does that work?_ Hannah immediately -- in full sight of Chin -- logged onto the guide facility servers. The library didn’t actually interest Danny _per se_ , but the knowledge that might be contained was a hundred percent why they had come to ‘Aina. 

Chin and Mossarat trailed behind them as Danny attempted to have a conversation with Hannah other than her basically asking how she could help, did he need a break, and what would he like to see next. Her eagerness was really easy to abuse and made Danny feel like a creepy old fucker. 

Sentinel Central had a lot to answer for. 

Deliberately-on-purpose, they lost Mossy in the library. 

             ~*~

The temptation to ping was nigh on irresistible. Steve knew that he was going to give in at some point in the near future. Gritting his teeth, he managed not to scope out the sense of the class of eight guides avidly listening to their teacher. 

“I want you to turn to page sixty seven,” the teacher by the white-board screen at the front of the classroom said. 

Fingers tapped on e-tablets; guide school was well funded. 

Eight teenagers of various ages sat on cushions on the floor studying what sounded like history, rather than anything specifically guide-related. 

“Do you guys need to join the class?” Steve whispered. The classroom abutted straight off the open plan corridor without walls or doors. Weird, was Steve’s opinion—anyone walking past would disturb the kids. It was cool in tropical heat, he guessed, but not a classic classroom. 

“It’s not our class. We’re missing gym,” Bade said. 

“Gym’s a treat; so that’s why we were -- helping, punishment,” Peanut said from behind the protection of a pillar. 

“But now we’re giving you a tour, Commander.” 

“Okay.” Steve returned Bade’s smile. “Small class. How many guides in the school?” 

Bade shrugged. 

There would not be a lot of guides on the island; that was the reality of the sentinel and guide mythos, not a lot of guides. Actually, there were not that many sentinels compared to the world population of ~four billion. Steve had done the math, the chance of being a five-sense sentinel was 0.00001% overall. He didn’t know how many sentinels of varying sense gifts – one to four heightened senses – there were, but he figured that it was in the order of four to five thousand, which sounded a lot but really wasn’t.

Steve pondered on the topic a lot; he hadn’t become an operative in Navy Intelligence by being stupid. There was not a 0. 00001% chance that an average person could become a sentinel, since the gifts predominantly ran in family lines. And from a very small sample -- chatting with Danny’s beloved dad had provided the data -- in the family lines it was more like ten to a hundred percent chance of having sentinel gifts. It was apparent, from back of the envelope calculations, that not all potential guides and sentinels emerged. Grace was a good example of that phenomenon. 

Only the five sense sentinels _needed_ guides. Sentinels with a lower number of gifts _wanted_ guides and occasionally found guides. His dad was a prime example of finding a guide -- but it was unusual. The tradition of not separating a bonded guide and sentinel, was however, sacrosanct. 

“Do you want to see the gym?” Peanut asked. 

“Sure.” 

Suffice to say the kids in the gym were having fun. 

“Oh,” Bade moaned, “we’re missing Pirates.”

“Indiana Jones and the Sentinels of Atlantis not that attractive now?” Steve grinned. 

All the gym equipment -- from horses to climbing frames, padded mats, and trampolines -- were set out. Bare floor was clearly water, and screaming kids flung themselves from apparatus to apparatus, following no rhyme or reason that Steve could fathom. 

“The little bean bags are treasure.” Peanut pointed at the purple bag balanced on the top of an angular climbing frame. “The team with the most treasure wins. But you can steal bags from each other.” 

A little kid with an amazing shock of brown curly hair was chasing down a taller boy who had a bean bag tucked in his waist belt. Whooping, Curly stole the bag, the bigger kid slipped off the gym mat and promptly fell to the hard floor screaming as he ‘drowned.’ 

“Sharks! Sharks!” 

Cackling, Curly left him to his fate. 

“Looks like fun.” Steve observed. 

“Tis! Miss. Miss!” Bade, with Peanut right on his heels, ran across to a short and compact native Hawaiian, who regarded her charges, arms crossed. “We’ve done our stuff, can we join in? Please? Please?” 

She looked down at him indulgently. “Go on then, both of you. Yellow belts.” 

“Yay!” Bade paused a second, pointing. “That’s Lieutenant Commander Steve from the Navy, he’s a guide. Visiting.” 

“Excuse me?” She barely had a chance to look towards Steve before the kids ran off into the melee. 

Snorting, Steve ambled over. He extended his hand. 

“Steve McGarrett, 5O – I run the Governor’s task force. I’m a guide.” It felt so strange saying it so easily. “My team and I are taking the opportunity to look around.” 

“Mia James. I’ve heard of you guys.” Her attention returned to her charges. She lifted a whistle to her lips. 

Steve braced himself for the shrill blast. She blew and the kids froze. 

“You know the rules. Craig, no wrestling. You’re on time out.” She pointed the far wall. 

The kid, Craig, heaved out the mother of all sighs and jumped off the trampoline, barely missing another kid who was lying on the floor, watching the action, since she was clearly drowned. He fetched up against the far wall, and slumped against it, glowering at the world. 

Mia blew the whistle again and shrieking, happy kids sprung back into action. Steve kind of wished he had had the opportunity to play this game, although he would have organised his troops. The game was basically manic tag. 

“Guide?” Mai regarded him frankly. 

Steve shrugged. She was clearly devoted to exercise and was a dedicated weight lifter. He hated that he made the same inferences to which the majority of the population were prone. He didn’t ping Mia, but he didn’t get a guide vibe. 

Steve set his hands on his hips, forefinger tapping the badge at his waist, and regarded the happy mayhem. The kids seemed happy. What bothered Steve was that they had no choice -- this was a gilded cage. The girl who had been drowning on the floor by the trampoline checked the clock on the wall, and then re-entered the fun. She immediately started chasing an older boy, who noted her pursuit. Five bags were tucked in his belt. Tarzan-yodelling, he jumped from the trampoline to a hanging rope, and started up it like a monkey. 

Steve was going to get the whole team in on this action. 

The kid reached the top of the rope in record time, curled his leg around the rope, locking in position. Secure, like a gymnast, he started pulling up the rope below, making himself unassailable. Strategic, Steve thought. 

_Fuck_. Steve’s vision blanked out, all along the right side like a veil had been drawn. He bent his knees against the sudden onset migraine. Steve closed his eyes and let his head hang. _Fuck_.

He hadn’t had a migraine in years, over a decade. His mom had regularly suffered them. But, no, he had had a series over a couple of months when he was twenty six, which had been as scary as Hell, because being in the Teams and migraines weren’t a thing. But they had passed. The doctor on the Nimitz had figured it was an aftereffect of a couple of good concussions. They had passed. 

“Commander?” 

Steve scrunched his eyes shut and concentrated on keeping still. The side of his face was tingling. His lips and tongue were going numb. 

There was a hole in his vision. He couldn’t move. 

“Migraine. I get them,” he mumbled. _I don’t. I haven’t had them for years._

“Do you have meds?” she said softly. 

_Power through it. Power through it._ Steve knuckled his forehead. _Danno?_

What? Danny’s imaginary voice responded. Did you ping someone. Are you being an idiot? Lock it down. 

_Lock it down_. There were like a thousand guides -- hyperbole -- on ‘Aina. Had he overloaded despite trying hard not to ping? Danny’s dad said that he was wide open, and a guide would be able to tell that he was a guide. 

Coming here was a mistake. 

“Ibuprofen.” A voice, Mia, said softly. She pressed two small tablets into his hand. They were small and hard, and felt like over-the-counter tablets. But he couldn’t open his eyes. They could be anything. He tossed them in his mouth and held them, waiting for the slight taste of liquorice, which wouldn’t necessarily prove that there wasn’t anything else in the meds, but at least it was mostly ibuprofen. 

He swallowed, working hard against the rising gorge. But he got them down. 

Lock it down, doofus, Danny growled inwardly, someone must have tried something. 

_Shit_. Was there someone here actively scanning him. Was there another projective empath on ‘Aina? Was this like being on the receiving end of a pinging probe? No one had batted an eye when he had pinged them -- apart from Danny -- but he had never suffered a migraine. Steve would have known if he had given Danny a migraine. Headaches, yes, but not migraines. Complaining about stabbing pointy headaches was _de rigueur_ in Danny’s world. 

“Steve. Babe. Headache?” Danny said softly. A warm hand circled around his waist. 

“Danny?” Steve said unnecessarily. 

“I’ve got you. Headache?”

“Yeah, sudden onset.” 

“Okay….” Danny said uncertainly. 

The single guide webpage on the Sentinel Central site talked about shields. A couple of the textbooks that they had acquired mentioned shields. Steve had never managed shields, because the instructions didn’t make sense. But he could imagine an aircraft carrier, with firm bulwarks, and an array of bristling defensive anti-aircraft guns. 

“You got an office that we can borrow?” Danny was saying. “Lie down for half an hour?” 

“Sure,” Mia said. 

“Come on, Babe. Chin, go find Mossarat, will you.” 

Eyes closed, Steve let Danny guide him to a hopefully, dark sanctuary. 

             ~*~

Danny could tell that Steve wasn’t sleeping. He lay on the gym coach’s long sofa, head pillowed on Danny’s lap, face tucked into his tummy. The tendons at the back of Steve’s neck were rigid, harder than iron. Carefully, Danny stroked and kneaded to bring relaxation. 

Danny didn’t like the room: one exit and no windows. The smell was musty, so the coach rarely used the office. He didn’t blame her. But they were trapped. 

“Danny?” Mossarat tapped on the door, and then immediately poked her head in. “Can I?” 

Danny nodded. 

She tiptoed across the room. “What happened?” 

“Migraine?” Danny shrugged, since he wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. He had heard Steve’s heart race, the frisson of electricity that spoke loudly of Steve had stuttered. It didn’t matter that he had been on the other side of the compound because he knew his family. Deliberately, he did not try to physically map Grace and George, two hundred and fifty odd miles away. 

“Steve? Commander? I need to examine you. Can you roll over?” 

Steve ignored her. 

“Come on, Babe,” Danny prodded. 

Grumbling, Steve flipped over on Danny’s lap. Hand splayed over his eyes, he planted his head squarely and unapologetically on Danny’s groin.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Mossarat curled her fingers around Steve’s other wrist. 

“Like a migraine,” Steve gritted out. “I don’t get migraines. I hate migraines.” 

“Can you move your hand? The lights are off.” Only the door was opened, letting diffuse light, barely enough for a mundane to see, filter into the room. 

Steve obeyed. Steve was good at obeying. He was pale and sweat beaded on his brow. 

“It may sound silly, Steve, but can you smile for me?” 

Steve tensed on Danny’s lap. 

“Babe, smile.” 

Steve’s lips curled obediently in a smile. Not a stroke, then. 

“Have you taken any painkillers?” Mossarat asked. 

“Ibuprofen.” Steve extended two fingers. “Ten, fifteen minutes ago.” 

“Babe, did you do anything guidey?” Danny asked. 

“No,” Steve rumbled, low enough that Danny bet Mossy could barely make it out. “I was deliberately not doing anything. Headache’s getting better. Aircraft carrier.” 

“What?” Danny shot a concerned glance at Mossarat. 

“Shield.” Steve actually rolled his eyes under closed lids. 

“Aircraft carrier is a code word for a shield?” Danny checked. 

“Kind of.” 

“Just briefly open your eyes, commander. I want to check your pupils.” 

“No,” Steve said. 

“Steve,” Danny chided. 

Sighing, Steve opened his eyes. His weird changeable eyes were a bleached out grey, the hazel flecks practically translucent. His pupils were pinpricks but equal. He closed them as fast as he opened them.

“In your work up, you said that you didn’t get migraines,” Mossarat said. 

“The doc said that they were post-concussive symptoms. It was over ten years ago.” Steve swore under his breath, flipped back onto his side and pushed his face into Danny’s stomach. “Just… just gimme fifteen minutes.” 

Danny curled an arm around Steve’s hunched shoulders, and wove his fingers into the hair at the base of his skull, massaging the taut tendons. He cocked his head to the door, dismissing Mossarat. This headache wasn’t anything like an ESO event, he had previously felt Steve seize in his senses, and this was different. Once Danny had thought that Steve had stopped dead. But they were on the island of guides, had someone slipped Steve something? Even used some weird guide gift on him?

It was a mistake coming to the island. Hindsight was, as ever, twenty twenty -- Steve was their only pilot. That was a mistake of monumental proportions. The plan was to get in and get out. Archer was a five sense sentinel, Danny could tell. He had let Steve go off on his own with the woman. They were over-confident asses. 

Steve relaxed into Danny’s lap with a sigh. Danny froze. The switch had been instantaneous. One moment tense, the other asleep. Danny deliberately breathed again, because really it wasn’t like he could hold his breath until Steve awoke. 

He slipped his gun from its holster and set it on the cushion by his hip. 

They should never have come. 

             ~*~


	2. Part Two

Voices were speaking, low and sharp. Above him, Danny was protesting. Steve stay still gathering intel. He felt kind of weird, as if his teeth were rattling around in his head. They weren’t captured. He was comfortable. Was Danny on the phone? He liked yelling on the phone. 

The pain had dissipated. Fog frittered on the edge of his consciousness. The sea fret might roll back over him 

“I must insist, Sentinel Williams. We have a dedicated and professional medical staff experienced in the needs of guides.” 

“It’s just a migraine.” 

“There is no such thing as _just a migraine_.” 

_Archer_ , Steve identified the voice. Hard as ice, resolute and right, at least in her own mind. 

Steve nuzzled a kiss against the skin peeking through the gape of Danny’s tightly stretched shirt. He stuck the tip of his tongue in Danny’s belly button. A warm hand pressed against his shoulder. 

Behave, Danny scolded. 

Steve stretched like a cat, and rolled on to his back. He wasn’t staying supine before anyone who wasn’t Danny. 

“Director,” Steve said as he smoothly sat up. 

“Guide McGarrett, are you well?” 

“Yes.” Steve was fine. Damn right, he’s fine. He’s bristling with armaments. He’s a nuclear powered aircraft carrier. 

He stood without wavering a millimetre. 

Archer probably outweighed him by ten pounds and it was all muscle. He was pretty sure that he could take her in a fight, but in reality, he really didn’t want to go there. The ceramic knife at the small of his back weighed heavily. 

“I have to insist.” 

“You can’t,” Danny said coolly. “Mine. All mine. My guide.” 

Steve let a slow breath whistle almost silently through his lips. The last thing that they wanted was to be examined. His brain was different. Steve didn’t know if all guides had additional, unrecognised nuclei in their basolateral complex of the amygdala, and, statistically more folds in the structure of the temporal lobes. Danny’s sentinel brain was also different – notably in the parietal lobes. 

“You’re being irresponsible, sentinel. You have a duty to your guide,” Archer said. 

“I’m better.” Steve strode past the annoying sentinels. 

MRIs might be non-invasive but he didn’t want Sentinel Central to have his scans on file, regardless of whether or not the differences were ‘normal’ for guides. Hopefully, Chin by now had accessed the guide facility servers and downloaded all the medical files that he could lay their fingers on. Also, hopefully, Mossarat had some Tylenol. He didn’t have a headache, but he could easily be back lying on the sofa with his head pillowed on Danny’s lap. Two seconds later, he could be on a gurney being wheeled to the very high-tech hospital on the island. And they might not just use MRIs to closely study his brain tissue. 

_Migraine?_ For fuck’s sake -- he didn’t get migraines. 

“Hey, brah,” Chin said. 

“Commander.” Mossarat regarded him.

“Tylenol.” Steve held his hand out. 

“Do you still have a headache?” Mossarat asked. 

“I have the serious possibility of a headache if I do not stay on top of the pain. Tylenol,” Steve said voice reft with experience. He glanced back to the office where the two sentinels were still arguing. 

Mossarat rooted in her shoulder bag, and passed over a bottle. Popping the cap, Steve shook out two. Tossing them into his mouth, he crunched and downed them, dry.

“What happened?” Mossarat asked. 

“I have no idea.” He didn’t get migraines; he had to have been scanned. 

“Are we leaving?” Chin asked. 

Steve tongued a gritty, nasty fragment of Tylenol. 

“No,” he said succinctly. Steve balanced risk and reward. He felt the cusp of a headache hovering; flying would be too much a risk to his ‘ohana. Disconcertingly, a repeat migraine mid-flight was a possibility. Two hours minimum with no pain, Steve figured, before he could safely fly, or it might even be tomorrow after a good night’s sleep. They hadn’t factored in staying on the island for twenty four hours. 

Black Friday suddenly had an altogether more ominous ring. 

“We could return to the plane,” Chin said neutrally. The unspoken message being: lock ourselves away. 

“We’re here for a tour,” Steve said flatly, as the two sentinels finally joined them. Weakness could only be exploited. They could, however, after the tour decamp to the plane -- it was certainly luxurious enough -- and leave first thing in the morning. 

Archer scrutinised him. Steve stared back at the woman. _I am fine_ , he thought loudly. Pain clawed and he bit down on it.

“Presumably, it is time for dinner --” Steve glanced at his watch, “--which you invited us to.” 

Archer continued to scrutinise, Steve figured that it was her thing. The students would probably wilt. Steve didn’t wilt in the face of psychopathic terrorists who threatened to decapitate him with a rusty machete -- she bore him no fear. 

“I’m sure that you’ll enjoy our traditional Hawaiian Thanksgiving.”

Never had a menu sounded so ominous. 

             ~*~

Mashed sweet potatoes, Danny could endorse. Hawaiian-Portuguese smoked turkey struck him as disgusting, with a capital D. There was also purple Poi, which Danny always considered to be deeply unnerving. He could swear that sometimes the viscous gloop moved of its own accord. 

Steve was eating the Poi with two fingers. Manfully, Danny withheld a shudder. Since Steve was just eating gloopy slop, it told Danny two things: he still had a headache, and his anxiety head was switched on. Oh, Steve, was a rock, but he over-thought everything if he had time. He could, and did, go off half-cocked (Danny sniggered inwardly), but his responses were objective based. However, at the moment he was stymied, and that led to over-thinking. 

Danny wasn’t stupid. He knew that they should be leaving, and that the reason they were not, was because it wasn’t safe to fly. The weight of his weapon at his back was comforting. But they were at a school. There were kids around them, happily celebrating Thanksgiving. A god damn movie was going to be shown later. They had to stay with the kids, in sight of the throng. They were using kids as a security blanket. 

Were they borrowing trouble? The idyllic setting was as lulling as a hammock as the sun drifted inevitably to the horizon. Chin was eating the vile-sounding turkey with gusto. He was a rock. Chin had had plans with his wife and daughter, but he had set them aside to help. Mossarat, two people down across from them, was having an in depth conversation with an older guide who taught biology and something else ology-based. Pricking up his ears, Danny listened, making sure that she wasn’t being indiscreet. But Mossarat was a clever, clever woman. 

Happy laughing surrounded them; were they in danger? Danny knew that he could also over-think. He had been brought up by sentinels inducted, better said, instructed by Sentinel Central. His parents were awesome. He knew other sentinels, like himself, public servants in the police, fire service, doctors -- he had trained with them. Good people one and all. They wanted to deliver services, all the sentinels that he knew were hands on, they didn’t want to manage people and resources -- Sentinel Central took on that role. There were hardly any sentinels in upper management, and there wasn’t a single guide with a defined role. 

Steve was paranoid; he trusted sentinels, but he didn’t trust Sentinel Central. Sentinel Central hadn’t done anything other than petition the State to release them into its custody. Danny sighed, because yes, he remembered the kidnapping attempt that the People of Hawaii had circumvented. 

At the heart of the matter was that Sentinel Central thought that they _ruled_ Sentinels, and _owned_ guides. 

             ~*~

Steve’s metaphorical aircraft carrier was on full alert. He didn’t know if his resources were correctly deployed, as he was sailing in uncharted waters. Servicemen were manning the guns. All were on high alert. But that was in the structure of his own mind. The boat was ready, but he was not utilising sonar and radar to scope the waters and air. 

“Babe?” 

“Hmmm?” Steve glanced at his sentinel. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah, fine.” Steve tucked a finger-full of poi in his mouth. Sweet and fresh just the way that he liked it -- just prepared. His stomach settled with every mouthful. 

There were two kinds of sonar: passive and active. They were exactly what they said on the tin. Passive listening for the vessels in the vicinity and active was emitting pulses of sound and listening for the echoes. Steve didn’t use sound but the mental landscape was similar. 

Steve sent out the lightest, and most delicate ping that he had ever sent. A mere drop of detection testing the waters. 

Steve held his breath, that there was a whole mess of guides in very close proximity did in fact make the scene before him altogether too weird for consumption. 

But a column of bright, blinding light overpowered all else. He had seen… experienced that assault against his senses when Danny's Mom had somehow locked down any empathic signalling. He had automatically ramped up his empathy to better scope her out and when he had looked at Danny he had almost been blinded. He couldn't tell now if what he was looking at was sentinel or guide, only that the being, sitting three tables to his left, was a powerhouse. The column of light turned around its core and regarded him with distant eyes -- implacable and remote. It didn't feel human.

Neutral, sexless, and entirely alien. Steve blinked deliberately and sight resolved into the comparatively 'normal' array of spiderwebs and auroras. The searchlight effect of the column switched off. Almost as if viewing the world out of the corner of his eye, he studied the figure. No longer blinded by an ethereal cast, he could tell that the powerhouse was a teen boy -- so probably a student. But was he a sentinel or guide? Logically, he was a guide. The North American identified sentinels were trained on the East Coast, where Danny had gone to Boarding School. Belatedly, he realised that the kid was the rope scaling gymnast from the game of pirates.

A ping was cast his way and Steve automatically threw out a scintillating, imaginary array of tin foil scatterings – chaff – to disrupt the radar signal.

Holy shit, the ping bounced, fragmented off the chaff and dissipated. As if poked with a sharp stick, the kid sat up straight. His eyes were large in his suddenly pale face -- his natural Hawaiian colouring momentarily greying.

Three things occurred to Steve: one, the kid definitely was a guide; two, he was a projecting empath, and three, he was local. Chin had implied that Hawaiians protected the 'uhane. How had a kid ended up on ‘Aina?

“Steve? What yah doing?” Danny's voice weaved through his consciousness.

Belatedly, Steve realised he was frozen with gloppy poi oozing off his fingers.

“Has your headache started again?” Danny asked. 

“No, just thinking.” Steve pushed the poi into his mouth. 

The kid was terrified. His aura had shrunk tight against his skin and gone slate grey. Peanut sitting at his side, tapped his shoulder, and asked a question. The older teen shrugged her off, and covered his unease by stuffing his mouth with a massive forkful of turkey. 

There was a projecting empath on ‘Aina and he was keeping his skills secret. _Jesus_ , Steve didn’t blame him. He and Danny had no idea what Sentinel Central would do with a projecting empath, but they didn’t want to find out. The guidefinder general – Danny called him the witchfinder – Arles had flown in from Brussels, Europe the last time that they had been on the island, and had expressed pronounced dissatisfaction that he hadn’t laid his hands on Mrs. Malone when it had been discovered that she was a projecting empath. He had confiscated her autopsied body. 

Babe, what the fuck are you doing? Danny’s voice seemed to grate in his mind. 

Nothing, Steve thought automatically, but relented immediately, okay, we need to talk privately. 

Danny rolled his eyes, since there were like ten odd sentinels in close proximity. Steve knew that privacy was simply not possible. They hadn’t brought a white noise generator, because why should they when they were on a peaceful mission of comradeship and information sharing? 

The presence of a projecting empath was all together problematical. Steve didn’t think that the kid was a plant -- yet it was undeniably interesting that he was hiding in plain sight. Danny’s dad had said that guides would identify him as an “unusual” guide by the fact that he constantly checked with empathic feelers. Did the kid use a different technique? He needed to talk to him, but how?

''I believe that you should see our doctors,” Archer said from the head of the table. 

Slowly, Steve wiped his fingers clean on a napkin. “Why?” he said finally. 

“Clearly,” she said pointedly, “you still have a headache. Your blood pressure is elevated. I can taste stress pheromones in the air.”

“My guide is healthy,” Danny said. 

“You’re delusional,” Archer said flatly. 

“Wha--” Danny erupted to his feet. 

“We’re sentinels.” She raised her hand, palm out squashing Danny’s words. “We don’t lie; it’s pointless. You’re not looking after your guide.”

“I’m an adult.” Steve grabbed the glass of hard cider that as an adult sitting at the head table he had been offered. “I can look after myself.” 

“You’re a guide,” Archer’s tone was compassionate. 

Did he have to challenge them to a kick boxing match? This was insane, he had nothing to prove. He had everything to prove. 

“Adult. And having a headache doesn’t mean anything other than I have a headache.” He did not look at the kid sitting at the other table. 

“An adult would see our doctors.” 

“I prefer my own.” Steve set the glass down on the table without drinking. 

“You’re seeing doctors?” Archer asked. 

_Danger, Will Robinson, Danger._

“Yeah,” that wasn’t a lie, “I got creased by a bullet not three weeks ago.”

Danny groaned into the palm of his hand. 

“Danny?” Steve stood, and set himself at Danny’s side. 

“We’re police officers. Governor’s task force.” Danny lifted his chin, defending himself to Archer. “We catch criminals. It’s dangerous.” 

“Look, _miss_ ,” Steve said deliberately, “I don’t know if you have a guide, but if you treat them like your partner, instead of a pet or a seeing eye dog, you’ll find that....”

It was getting mushy. 

“It is awesome,” Danny interjected for him. 

“Come on, grab our plates.” Steve took Danny’s elbow. Escape was the best strategy at this time. “I’ll introduce you to Peanut and Bade.” 

Conscious that the woman was watching their every move clinically, Steve dragged Danny and an extra chair over to the kids’ table. Deliberately, he dissipated the auras between one blink and the next, and there was simply a group of kids, all shapes and sizes, stuffing their faces with food.

“Move over,” he ordered the kids, swung the chair around and straddled it. 

Wide-eyed, the kids shifted along on the bench, making room for Danny. He set their plates down with a thump. 

“Hi, I’m Steve. Peanut and Bade know me. This is Danny.” Steve helpfully pointed as Danny got comfortable on the end of the bench. “He’s a sentinel. Five senses. His Mom’s a sentinel and his dad’s a guide. Hands up if you have sentinels and guides in your family tree.” 

Silently, the kids stared. 

“Come on, I‘m taking a census. If your mom is a sentinel put your hand up.” 

Twelve kids, one put their hand up – Peanut.

“Your dad is a sentinel?” 

Nine kids put up their hands, not including the pillar of light.

“So you two.” Steve regarded the kid that pinged his senses, and a girl sitting next to Bade. 

“Uhm, my mom said that she thought that my great aunt might have been a guide?” she said helpfully. “You doing a study?” 

“Just curious. I think that it’s interesting. My mom was a guide and my dad a sentinel.” Steve focused on the projecting empath. He was kānaka, with maybe a touch of European heritage, light brown skin, brown-hazel eyes and dark brown, closely cropped curling hair. 

“My mom wasn’t a guide or a sentinel. I dunno about my dad.” He shrugged, all the while eying Steve as if he were an Alien face-hugger. 

“You’re Hawaiian,” Danny blurted, and then looked at Steve as if checking he had got his facts straight. “I thought--?” 

There hadn’t been a sentinel and guide on the Islands since Kai and Sian had died in the late 1960s. The locals felt the loss most severely. No sentinel or guide born of the islands would have been handed easily over to Sentinel Central.

“My caseworker figured that I was a guide and I was transferred here,” the kid said quietly. 

“Caseworker?” Danny pounced. Steve could hear him thinking _criminal?_

The kid shifted to the edge of his seat. 

“Social worker. My mom died. My dad _isn’t_. I ended up in a group home.” He waved a hand at his fellow guides. “They were all angry and upset. It sucked.” 

“No family,” Danny checked. 

“No family,” he said defensively. 

“Sorry,” Danny said. “This place is better, though?” 

“I guess so. I mean.” He slung an arm around Peanut’s shoulders. “Happier.” 

“Well, that’s good.” 

“Something to be thankful for, Nahele,” Peanut piped up, and lifted her glass of milk. 

Steve didn’t think that he would be able to be thankful for a conscripted guide school, but he smiled at the little kid. He had managed to lock down his guide abilities -- empathy -- but maybe not every kid could. Being on the island was safer? All he knew that as a toddler he hadn’t wanted to manipulate the people around him, and then as a teenager, he hadn’t wanted to be pigeonholed as a sensitive guide, carted off here and presented to a bunch of sentinels at some prearranged time. He had followed his dreams. 

“Yes, Cheri, I’m thankful for ‘Aina.” Nahele bussed an affectionate kiss on the top of Peanut’s white-blonde hair. 

_Nahele_ , Steve noted the name--that, and the fact of being assigned a social worker with a transfer to ‘Aina, would be enough for Chin to pull his records. 

The skin on the back of Steve’s neck pricked. Deliberately, he craned his neck around and stared at Archer. _Nothing going on here_ , he thought solidly. _You’re just a little… intent?_

Archer flushed, pinkness staining her white cheeks. She was, Steve instantly knew, a sentinel without a guide. He was surprised. He figured that all the sentinels on ‘Aina would be bonded so that they wouldn’t be tempted by all the baby guides. But she struck him as a woman with iron discipline. 

She still craved, and he wasn’t a child, and he had a sentinel, who she thought wasn’t good enough for him. 

Steve blinked; he hadn’t seen that one coming on his list of possible problems that they might encounter on ‘Aina. 

It was enough to give him a headache, if he didn’t already have one. But other matters were more important: Nahele was a kid; he was terrified; he was kānaka, and he wasn’t a plant. 

Danny sat up a little straighter. 

Steve could practically hear him think: what shit is this? 

“Seriously, first the kittens?” Danny said nonsensically. 

“We’re not adopting the kids,” Steve said, so maybe Danny wasn’t being irrational. 

Eleven little baby guides were watching them fascinated, and one guide was a hairsbreadth from bolting. 

“You’re not like any sentinels and guides on the island,” Bade said. 

“I would hope not,” Danny said indignantly. “This doofus is my partner.” 

“You know what would be good,” Steve announced, “we should ask Sentinel Archer if you guys could have a field trip to 5O’s headquarters.”

“What?” Danny exclaimed. 

“Yeah.” Steve turned in his seat and grinned toothily at Archer. “I think this is a great idea.”

             ~*~

_I’m gonna kill him_ , Danny thought. 

Steve sat engrossed by the adventures of Indiana Jones, played by Chris Evans rather than Harrison Ford. Grace had made Danny go to see it when it had first come out. Soon, Indy was going to meet with a bunch of water-breathing sentinels. Humans couldn’t breathe water, sentinels were human; it made no sense. The sentinel mer-king, Ronon, also had the messiest, dreadlocked hair ever, which in the sea would only make him waterlogged. Danny was offended -- this was a stupid film. 

Steve flashed a grin at Danny, feeling his gaze. Peanut, ensconced on Steve’s lap, rolled her head on his chest, and also looked at Danny. She gnawed absently on her thumb. 

“Good film.” Steve gave him the thumbs up 

_Philistine_. He couldn’t wait for Steve’s reaction when the mermaid guides tipped up. They were so sweet and cute and giggly. And, improbably blonde and stacked, every single one of them. To be fair, it was his favourite part of the entire movie.

Feeling a minuscule electric zing, Danny checked his cell phone. A message was compiling. Chin hadn’t texted him a prearranged vibrating alert. Tech-wizard Chin was monitoring ‘Aina airspace with Kono’s remote help. No Sentinel Central contingent, as of yet, was reported as winging their way towards them. He tapped the screen as the message appeared.

           **Chin** : hows Steve? are we escaping after the movie? 

Chin was still at the Ice Queen’s table. Leaning back in his chair, loose and relaxed, he chatted quietly with the guy sitting on his left -- multitasking. 

           **Danny** : I figure -- he tapped with goofy thumbs -- we should bale now. Take ev8r hours. Movie will B good cov9r. AM gonna text Steve.

           **Chin** : I will. 

Oh, his phone could text several people at once; you learnt something every day. The device zinged in his hands, making the fine hairs on the back of his fingers bristle. A new message bubble popped up on the left-hand side of the screen. 

           **Chin** : hows the headache. 

Steve shifted in his seat, digging out his phone. Peanut scowled at the movement, and shuffled into a more comfortable position, swinging spindly legs over his thigh. One handed, Steve flicked at his phone. 

           **Steve** : I’m good (his texting was always grammatically accurate).

           **Danny** : lets goooo NOW. 

Steve automatically glanced back to the screen where Indiana Jones was donning a wetsuit. He was about to dive into the deep blue ocean to explore the earthquake-revealed entrance to Atlantis and encounter the mer Sentinels. Steve’s jaw jutted out as he contemplated movie screen, cell phone, and then looked at Danny, sullenly. 

“We can rent it, Babe.” 

Danny could tell that Steve was torn. Swallowing hard, his goof looked at the Indiana Jones-entranced baby guides. Danny shook his head. Honestly, Steve bonded so fast, it was ridiculous and a little sad. 

Steve stared hard, trying to convey something. Danny leaned forward, squinting. Huh, there was something else going on. 

What in the utter complex of insanity that was behind their decision to come to 'Aina had resulted in that expression? Danny was ninety nine percent sure that Chin had made their phones secure, but one percent made him not use his texting skills to ask his insane guide what the Hell was going on now.

“Hey, anyone want to see a Lear jet?'' Steve stood, holding Peanut against his hip.

Danny knew that he didn't have a snowball’s chance in Hawaii at getting the kids to abandon The Sentinels of Atlantis™ with Chris Evans. Peanut eeled out of Steve's loose hold. 

“Yeah, I'll come.” The kid called Nahele stood up.

Danny had been watching him. Steve had been scrutinising the kid out of the corner of his eye.  
Steve nodded gravely at the young man.

''I'll come,” Bade said.

“Indy,” Peanut whined. 

“Oh.” Visibly torn, Bade prevaricated.

''It's okay, Bade,” Steve said. “I'm going to talk to Archer about field trips. So there'll be other opportunities.”

“Bye, Commander Steve.” Peanut stretched up on tiptoes to yank at his polo sleeve to drag him down.

Steve bent obediently, and she bussed a noisy kiss on his cheek.

He knelt down, eye to eye with the kid. ''Thanks, Peanut. It was great meeting you today. Thank you for showing me around.”

“Come back, please?” She flung her arms around his neck.

“We'll try. I definitely want you guys to visit us.” 

“I’m glad you’ve got a nice sentinel,” Peanut whispered loud enough for Danny to hear. 

“Yes,” Steve said quietly, for only Peanut and Danny to hear, “I love him.” 

             ~*~

“Okay,” Steve decided their next steps in a heartbeat. “Danny, you and Nahele go to the jet. I’ll have a quick word with Archer. I’ll direct Chin and Mossy to follow.” 

“What?” Danny said instantly. 

Steve jerked his chin in the direction of the airfield. The order was unmistakable.

“You what?” Danny did his chest expansion of _you can’t tell me what to do._

Steve jerked his chin again, emphasising, go the _fuck ahead_ and I’ll catch up with you in a millisecond. 

No, Danny said with heart and soul. He glared mutely at Archer, who was watching them with consternation in her eyes. 

_Honestly?_ Steve smacked a chaste kiss on Danny’s cheek since there were kids staring at them. 

“I’ll catch up,” he said. 

“No way, José.” Danny crossed his arms. 

Sentinel-sentinel, there was no way on God’s green earth that Danny Williams was going to let him out of his sight. Archer was a hairsbreadth from standing and coming in their direction. Sentinels were so annoying. Damn it, Steve strode over, leaving Danny with Nahele. He had just wanted his team to go somewhere quiet for five minutes, and now Archer had them and Nahele, in her sentinel sights. 

“Hey.” Steve ramped up the charm to Smooth Dog levels. “We’re going to leave now. Give time for Danny and Chin to spend some time with their families. We, I, just, wanted to thank you. It’s been interesting.” 

Glacially slow, Archer stood up, and accepted Steve’s outstretched hand. She squeezed it lightly, thumb moving over the back of his hand. 

“You can return any time.” 

“About that,” Steve said, and Archer’s expression brightened fractionally, “I mentioned to the kids about them coming to Honolulu for a field trip. I promised I’d talk to you about it. Let them see headquarters, the type of work that a sentinel and guide team could do. Educational.”

“I don’t know….” 

“Governor’s Task Force, I can ensure their safety.” Steve managed to keep a hold of her hand.

“I--” 

“You’re more than welcome.” He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but maybe he added a fillip of _you know you want to._

“We’ll communicate,” she breathed

“Okay.” Steve freed his hand. “Uhm… steve.mcgarrett@hawaii.gov, all lower case.”

“I’ll email, Commander. Steven.” 

“Okay,” and Steve heard the creak on the ‘a’ that Danny sometimes mocked him for, and bolted. 

Chin ambled after him, laughing. Steve didn’t sprint, but it was close, back to Danny’s side. 

“Smooth, Babe,” Danny said. 

“Shut up.” 

Steve glanced back. Archer had been distracted by the young red-head who they had been introduced to earlier. The young woman stood at Archer’s side, bent over, her long red hair formed a curtain, hiding the older woman from view. The sensation of Archer’s change of focus was very welcome. 

Mossarat scurried to their side, hefting her shoulder bag into a comfortable position. “Are we going back to Honolulu now?” 

“That’s the plan,” Steve said. He jerked a thumb at the kid. “This is Nahele, he wants to check out the jet.” 

“Oh? Hi, Nahele.” Mossarat smiled. 

The kid blushed, and dipped his chin to hide his face. 

“Can I come see?” Bade clambered off the bench and joined them. 

“And the movie?” Steve asked. Indy was clambering out of a pool into a blue lit cave. Before him stood rank and file of tall, armoured sentinels. They held golden tridents proudly. 

“I know. I know.” Bade cast a glance at the screen on the far wall. “But I’ve always wanted to see the inside of a plane cockpit. I want to be a pilot. They’ll show the movie again.” 

“Sure, kid.” Steve set a hand to Bade’s shoulder and directed him out of the auditorium. 

             ~*~

The feeling was unerringly like being on patrol in the ‘Stan. A tickle walked up Steve’s spine. 

“So any sentinels or guides watching?” Steve asked Danny as they walked down the garden path to the airfield. 

“Uhm.” Danny cast around. “Believe it or not, mundane, we’re under video surveillance.” 

“How can you tell?” Steve asked. 

“By the pricking of my thumbs.” Danny held up both thumbs and contemplated them. “Sentinels are different. It’s kind of borderline offensive, nails on a blackboard, hard to pin down, unless you know them. But, the electronics, video surveillance, is just there -- humming.” 

Steve followed his gaze to the camera atop the pole in the verdant Ma'o Hau Hele plants. There was no associated sound receiver, but maybe there was a mike elsewhere. 

“So no one within earshot?” 

“Nope.” 

“No one with a parabolic mike?”

Danny contemplated a moment, puffing out his cheeks with an in-held mouthful of air. He shook his head. 

“The bushes deaden sound. Plus there’s no direct line of sight.” 

“Okay, distract Bade.” Steve made to drop back. 

“Hey.” Danny caught his wrist. “Chin has a white noise app on his phone.” 

“No.” Steve shook his head. “Might as well set up a beacon yelling _Here We Are Being SUSPICIOUS.”_

“And what are you up to?” Danny said lowly. 

“Now,” Steve emphasised, “really isn’t the time.” 

“Hmm.” Narrow-eyed, Danny said ominously, “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’ll find out later,” 

“Yep,” Steve said agreeably, because he had absolutely no problem with that, “at home.” 

“So annoying.” Danny turned on his heel coming face to face with Bade. “So where are you from, kiddo?” 

“Sir?” Faced with a real life sentinel in close proximity, Bade stumbled. “Nigeria.” 

“You’re a long way from home, son.” 

Stopping, Steve let the pair walk ahead. Danny slung a companionable arm over Bade’s shoulders towing him along. Nahele waited with Steve, letting Danny and Bade turn down the twisty path. The kid stood quietly, waiting for the proverbial axe to drop. 

“We’ve probably got four-five minutes, if we walk slow.” Steve began walking. “Everyone is watching the movie.” 

They turned the corner, the surveillance pole behind them. Duckling-like, Nahele followed him to skirt the edge of the path, protected by high, dense rhododendrons and Ma'o Hau Hele plants. Steve wished, pointlessly, that it was raining -- natural white noise. 

“Sorry,” Nahele whispered.

“About what?” 

“I didn’t know when I thought at you it would hurt you.”

“Yeah, well, I figured out a couple of things because of it,” Steve said. 

“Yes?” Nahele bent his head close. 

“Only one is relevant to **us** ,” Steve emphasised. “But first, you know that you project emotions as well as receive, yes?” 

“Sometimes, not all the time,” Nahele whispered even more quietly. “The other kids can’t… don’t… I don’t really know, but I could _see_ that you’re like me. Brighter.” 

“Yeah, I get that.” Steve rubbed at the back of his neck. “Right, we have to be quick, and I’m sorry I can’t explain things. Until I found my sentinel, I managed to lock down my guide abilities. You can do it to. And you have to. You can’t let the others figure out that you can project, okay?” 

Nahele nodded soberly. Steve really didn’t need to give him a lecture. 

“They test us,” Nahele whispered, so low Steve could barely hear it. “There was a kid, Kevin, when I was brought in. They took him somewhere else. He was bright. I _don’t know_ how to ‘lock down’.”

“How did you avoid…?”

“I had a bad cold. I was tired I had a headache. I figure that made them miss me. I wasn’t what they call cooperative. They like cooperative.” Nahele snuffled. “A nurse let me slip out.” 

Steve wanted to grab Nahele, Bade and Peanut, the girl whose great aunt might have been a guide and stuff them in the jet and fly them away from ‘Aina. It wouldn’t work -- Sentinel Central would be on them in a heartbeat to be sequestered for their own protection. 

“Visualisation is the key, Nahele,” Steve said urgently. “Imagine a vault, the biggest, most secure, thickest walled safe you can think of, stick that part of yourself in that box. Put a lock on the door, padlock it shut, and hide the key in the deepest, darkest place in your imagination where no one will ever go, and forget where you put it. Check the safe three times a day: morning when you first wake up, before lunch, and at night before you go to sleep. Never forget to check the safe. Never forget. Keep it secure. Protect it. And when you graduate, you come straight to me and we’ll retrieve the key. You’re Hawaiian -- argue, demand, throw a temper tantrum -- so that you’ll be allowed to visit home with your assigned sentinel. Okay?” 

Nahele nodded once, hard. 

“I’ve spoken to Archer about you guys coming to O’ahu, so I am going to make sure that that visit happens. I don’t know when, but it will.”

Their time was up; Steve sped up. He hated this; he was a prisoner in his own society. 

             ~*~

On seeing the jet sitting on the tarmac, silhouetted in the setting sun, Danny didn’t relax. He couldn’t relax. He wouldn’t relax until he was at cruising altitude, or better yet, landing at Hickham. 

“Hmmm,” Chin said unnecessarily. “Steve has the keys.”

“Of course, he has the keys.” Danny rolled his eyes. “He always has the keys.” 

Danny always kept one ear on his family. He knew the cadence of Steve's words and he was stressed. Sweat prickled down Danny’s spine. He could also hear running feet further away. His trigger finger twitched

“Danny, what's happening?” Chin asked.

Steve and Nahele emerged from the path through the woods, unconcerned and ostensibly at ease. Steve was coldly calm; battle ready. You had to know the man to know that he was worried. Steve probably couldn't even admit to himself that he was terrified.

Five people: three sentinels and two guides were approaching rapidly. The single sentinel had to be Archer. 

Danny stabbed his finger towards his feet. _Heel_ \--he used the same signal when out with Vel.

Eyebrow cocked, Steve actually slowed down to an amble across the tarmac.

“I will kill you dead,” Danny growled. “To me, now.”

Steve read his urgency, speeding up. The kid jogged with him. As soon as Steve was in grabbing distance, Danny caught the hem of Steve’s polo shirt and towed him closer. Danny set himself at the head of his coterie. He deliberately kept all the guides behind him.

''Sentinel Williams,” Archer was speaking even as she was out of view running down the path. “What are you doing?”

“What the Hell do you think I'm doing?” Danny snapped.

“What's happening, Danny?” Steve asked.

''Get in the plane,” Danny ordered. “Don't freakin argue.”

Steve tossed the Lear’s keys to Chin. 

Chin, eminently more sensible than the rest of Danny’s team -- albeit that wasn't news to Danny -- immediately went to the jet. Mossarat was a five foot force of nature and corralled the kids. Chin jabbed the key in the lock. The internal locking motor whirred. Two seconds was too long when stressed sentinels were running down on you. The top half of the door started to lift, and Chin immediately ducked his head through the gap to release the bottom, step-portion of the door. 

“Get in; take the kids,” Danny didn’t like repeating himself. 

Chin stepped aside, allowing Mossarat to push the kids into the plane. He set a foot on the bottom step, and stayed where he was, guarding the entry. 

Steve, of course, stood shoulder to bicep with Danny as Archer emerged from the woods.

“Where are the guides?” she demanded.

''Seriously? Is that what this alarm is about? The kids wanted to see the jet!”

''Where. Are. They?” Archer couldn't be derailed.

“Safe. Safe from the rampaging sentinels bearing down on us.” It hadn't escaped Danny's notice that the other two black, uniform-clad sentinels were armed. Their side arms were holstered but the clasps were loose. Weapons ready to draw. S-team sentinels were deployed on the island? Two pairs of sentinels and guides, meant two individual S-teams. You rarely put two sentinels in the same team.

They hadn’t put those uniforms and equipment on, and made it to the air field, in the five minutes it had taken Danny and his crew to amble to the jet. They had been ready for action. The question was where were the mundane partners of the two S-teams? Danny let his senses range. 

“Stand down,” Steve rapped. 

The two S-team sentinels relaxed their stances. Archer made a double take at the order. Hundred scenarios, okay three, went through Danny's head. The Pavlovian response of sentinels to guides played in their favour and was also a problem. Or they were responding to the fact that Steve was an _officer_ in the God damn Navy? Or had Steve manipulated them into obeying?

“Kids,” Danny said. “Poke your heads out. Show these guys that we're not kidnapping you.”

Steve huffed out an inappropriate laugh.

Archer glowering, fingered the Taser at her waist. 

_Shit. Shit. Shit_. she actually could wear a Taser. She was a teacher of kids. Danny bit down on his lip. 

“We're okay, Ma’am.” Bade crept down the Lear steps, avoiding Chin at the bottom. 

“Get here now!' She pointed at her feet. Danny was offended on Bade's behalf

_Really?_ Steve eyed him. _Because you do exactly the same thing._

''Nahele!” Archer shouted. “Now.”

''You need to chill,” Danny said.

''You don't get to speak to me like that,'' Archer snapped.

“Gāta Archer.” Bade bowed respectfully. ''I just wanted to see the plane.”

Nahele came down the three short steps, head down, carefully watching his feet. 

''Stop it!” Steve's voice was weighty with empathic intent. He took a slow, sensuous step away from Danny's side in Archer’s direction. ''You’re scaring your charges -- the young guides under your care.”

“I have responsibilities.” Archer flushed pinkly. 

“And, boy, I get that,” Danny said. 

“Yes.” Archer nodded commiseratingly at Danny. 

Danny couldn’t help but shrug a _What can you do? Guides_ shrug. On the heels of that feeling, he shook his head; this wasn’t even remotely funny. 

“You don’t scare kids.” Danny growled. “You don’t come after your kids with a weapon. I don’t care if you just think that it is just a Taser. Tasers can kill people. What kind of precedent are you setting? The guides are here on ‘Aina so that you can protect them. You don’t protect them like this! I’m a God damn sentinel, from a family of sentinels _and_ guides, and our lineage goes back centuries. I’d die before I would hurt a guide. What the Hell did you think we were doing?”

Archer ground her teeth audibly. 

“Look, everything is okay,” Steve said. “Bade and Nahele just wanted to see the jet. Okay?” 

“Yes.” Archer pursed her lips. “But they shouldn’t have left the auditorium without permission.” 

“I apologise,” Steve said seriously. “They’re just kids; they just wanted to see a plane.” 

“Nahele, Bade, go back to the movie.” Archer jerked her head in the direction of the auditorium. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Bade said. 

Nahele didn’t appear to be able to form words. He flashed a conflicted glance at Steve. 

“Go on.” Steve nodded. “Sentinel Archer and I will discuss this, and figure out how we get you guys, and the rest of your class, on a field trip to Honolulu, okay?” 

“Thank you,” Nahele whispered, as soft as Peanut could say. 

Steve smiled winningly at Archer. 

“Yes,” Archer said, flustered. 

Tone it down, Danny thought hard at Steve. 

“Thanks!” Bade bolted with Nahele on his heels. 

Archer rocked her head on her neck making it crack, releasing tension. Profoundly vexed, she set her pale blue gaze on Danny. 

“So, yes--” Danny had really had enough, “--if everything is copasetic, we’ll be going. Because as nice as it isn’t here, I have two kids that I promised that I’d see this Thanksgiving, and Chin’s missing his baby daughter. Chin, plane.” 

Adroitly, Chin obeyed. 

Danny grabbed Steve’s arm and put all of his weight into pivoting the taller man around with his lower centre of gravity. Steve moved most satisfactorily. 

“Hey,” Steve protested. 

“It’s been a blast. Thank you,” Danny said over his shoulder -- Archer was a statue -- as he bench pressed Steve up the steps right into the Lear.

“You know, I’m not your chew toy.” Steve made a long legged step into the plush interior. 

“You are the bane of my very existence.” He clambered after his guide. 

Twisting, Danny yanked at the steps, hauling them up into the closed position. He pulled down the top half of the door, bringing the door portions together, and emphatically did not look at the watching sentinels. 

“Start the plane, Steven.”

“Start the plane,” Steve mocked, but he did duck into the cockpit, so Danny didn’t yell at him. 

The forceful clunk of the door latch locking reduced some of the anxiety digesting Danny’s stomach lining. He could hear Steve flicking switches. The thrum of the engines initiating was the best sound that Danny had heard all day. 

“Sit. Seat belts. Now,” Danny ordered Chin and Mossarat. 

They both belted up, without arguing. 

Danny barrelled into the cockpit. 

Steve was busy, headset in place, communicating with the tower. 

“We are never coming back here,” Danny said. 

Steve shot him a flat look, and pointed at the co-pilot’s seat. Danny sat with a thump. 

“Acknowledged,” Steve said into the mike. The plane turned on a dime, and they taxied the short distance into position. The runway stretched before them.

Danny clenched his fingers around the armrests. The whine of the engines ramped up. He hadn’t checked the engines. What if they had been sabotaged? They started down the runway. 

“Steve?” 

“Thank you, Control,” Steve said, accelerating. 

Steve had both hands on the yoke, and was pulling back slowly and evenly as they sped forwards. Faster and faster. The plane lifted, as smooth as malt whisky, and they launched into the air. 

“Jesus.” Danny pressed his hand against his face. “Jesus.”

“You all right, Danno?” Steve asked, as they climbed smoothly skyward. 

“I can’t believe that we got away with that. We were so stupid. We were so lucky. We should have had a second pilot. We should have always had someone staying with the plane. I can think of a hundred things that could have gone wrong.” 

They punched through low fluffy clouds and emerged into clear purple skies. The sun was setting on the horizon. 

“Nah, we were okay.” Steve flashed a cocky smile. “If we had gone in loaded for bear, it would have set off alarms. And everything that you think could have gone wrong, _would_ have gone wrong. But we were exactly what we were planning on being -- a sentinel and guide, temporary visitors, in and out. The sentinels read that and treated us as guests.” 

“There were two, count them, two sentinel S-teams, on the island.”

“Yes, I know; I saw them.” 

“You are so annoying.” 

Steve shrugged. He cast his eyes over the glass cockpit and smiled. Danny didn’t know the whys and wherefores of all the electronic flight instrument displays, but he knew Steve. He found a modicum of relaxation. 

“Cruising altitude. I like the governor’s plane.” 

“Autopilot.” Danny jabbed a finger at the console. “Put it on.”

“I will, when it’s the right time to do it.” Steve smiled, hands sure on the yoke. 

“Okay, tell me what the fuck happened just there?” 

“Yes, indeed.” Chin poked his head into the cockpit. Mossarat peered around his elbow. 

“Nahele’s like me.”

“A projecting empath?” Mossarat said unnecessarily. 

“Yes.” Steve nodded. “He hard pinged me. That’s what triggered the headache.”

“Hard pinged?” Mossarat asked. 

“Geez, poor kid,” Chin said. 

“What did you say to him in the woods?” Danny said. 

“I told him how to lock it down.” 

“You know how to lock down?” Mossarat asked. 

“Yes, of course I do.” Steve flicked a switch on the console. He turned in his seat. “You knew that already. Remember, we’ve talked about that. I lock down short term. But I’ve got Danny now, I can’t not be a guide.” 

Mossarat nodded. “I just--”

“Okay. Okay. Okay. What about the files?” Danny asked. “Did you get what we were after? Anything on Empathic Stress Overload syndrome?”

“I haven’t really had the opportunity to look at what we’ve stolen,” Mossarat said with a slight edge. 

“Noted,” Steve said easily. “I want copies.” 

“Of course, sir,” she said, automatically adding the honorific. 

Steve really had a way about him that commanded respect. 

“We did a wide ranging search on their databases. And did a mass download.” Chin smiled sublimely. “It will take a while to organise. But our search terms and strings were well structured.”

“And you covered your tracks,” Steve asked. 

“Yes,” Chin said evenly. 

“Of course you did.” Steve let out an almighty sigh. “We did it, we got in and out, with the information that we required. Good job, everyone.” 

Danny almost wanted to salute. He didn’t. 

“What else have we learnt?” Danny said. 

“There’s other projecting empaths,” Mossarat said. 

Steve’s bottom lip jutted out. He nodded soberly. 

“Steven?” Danny prodded. 

“We assumed, but we now know, that Sentinel Central is actively looking for projecting empaths -- they test the guides, and identified projecting empaths are sequestered elsewhere.” 

“Whoa,” Danny breathed, “did Nahele tell you that?” 

“A kid, Kevin, was transferred off ‘Aina. Nahele said--” Steve glanced to the left furtively. 

“Steven.” 

“He was ‘bright’ -- the aura thing.” 

“You can spot projecting empaths by their auras?” Chin asked. 

“No.” Steve stared straight at Danny, not obfuscating in the slightest, but emphatically not looking at Chin and Mossarat. “It’s more complex than that. But I get what Nahele means. There aren’t words.”

“Well, try and put it into words,” Danny ordered. 

“It’s….” Steve’s jaw jutted out. He glared, frustrated. 

“I recently read an interesting paper about a culture that utilises the sense of smell more than our cultures,” Mossarat said. “Their language is rich with smell syntax -- words and concepts which simply don’t translate into the English language. People have different experiences and they are reflected in their language. _Parso_ in my native Punjabi. Or _fitteh muh_ , which I find very appropriate to this situation.” 

“And that means what?” Danny asked. 

“Frustration, when you want to scold, and even slap someone upside the head.” Mossarat raised an eyebrow. 

“But I get what you mean.” Danny shifted to the edge of his seat. 

“Yes, but we share--” Mossarat patted her chest “--common frustrations, common ground, and can find the words. But there’s only one empath in this room.” 

“And only one sentinel,” Steve said. 

“Exactly,” Mossarat said. “I can’t experience the true complexity of what either of you sense.” 

“True.” Chin stepped fully into the cock-pit. “But were you aware of the show that you both put on?”

“What?” Steve and Danny said simultaneously. 

“Steve gets a migraine and you sense it a thousand yards away.”

“And? I’m a sentinel.” Danny held his hands up in faux-surrender. “Do do doooo.” 

“Chin is talking about the telepathy,” Mossarat said helpfully. 

“What?” Steve’s jaw dropped. 

“There’s no telepathy.” Danny said. “I don’t hear what Steve thinks. I’d never have a moment’s peace.”

“Excuse me,” Steve said prissily, “you’re the motor mouth. I’d be deafened.” 

“Please, you have conversations without speaking all the time,” Mossarat said. 

“And? We’re partners,” Danny said. “That’s what partners do. I know Steve’s body language. And I guess Steve reads my emotions”

“Surfs your emotions, more like,” Steve said, waggling his fingers in the air following a wave. 

“No.” Chin shook his head slowly. “The first time I saw it, Steve was up in his study playing a sad song on his flute. It made my heart pinch. You asked him, Danny -- as we both sat on the lanai -- you just _asked_ him to play something different. And he did.”

Steve blinked. He cast a checking glance at Danny. 

“I don’t remember,” Danny said slowly. 

“Why would you?” Chin raised both hands. “It was one of a thousand incidences. Today, at times you didn’t even speak, but you communicated in thought and deed, more times than I can count.” 

“I don’t think that it is telepathy. It’s….” Steve clicked his fingers contemplatively. 

“It’s….” Danny said uninformatively. 

“Not really relevant to the ESO problem and treatment of guides?” Steve finished. He shifted around in his seat to check his console, practically putting up a wall. 

“You don’t get it. You _communicate_ over distances,” Chin said. “And you did it in front of Director Archer. The S-team guides. You did it when we were in the library and your migraine started. I’m not a sentinel-guide scientist, and I want to put you in a box and try and figure out how you do it.”

Danny flopped into his seat. 

“Okay,” Steve said soberly, his back still to them. “I understand what you’re saying, but I don’t think that it’s unusual. You and Malia can have a conversation without speaking. That cutting glance across the table when you take the last cookie. You know when your daughter is going to misbehave before she knows she’s going to. We all do. We read people. The sentinel and guide stuff just makes it a little more concrete.” 

Conversation over. 

Danny held in his breath and contemplated Chin. Part of him agreed with Steve, but Chin was an observant and intelligent man. Mossarat was downright scarily brainy. The thing was, Danny very much thought that it was just a sentinel thing. 

A married thing.

oo000oo

**Epilogue**

Six hours into being at home: checking on George & Grace; a late supper of Thanksgiving turkey subs with far too much mayonnaise; running three, count them three, checks of the perimeter, and Danny didn't think that he was anywhere close to relaxation. The neighbours were fine. Mrs. Donavan was exhausted after a long day cooking for her horde, and was lying on the sofa, abrogating all responsibility for kid wrangling to her husband. Sebastian had a friend over and they were watching what sounded like a zombie movie. Danny tuned them out on principle. Horror movies with disturbingly frisson-dominated soundtracks were incredibly annoying and distracting. A soft susurration of a mother’s love, humming a lullaby, from the house directly opposite, should have been a balm. 

Danny stalked into the kitchen. 

Steve was drying his hands on a dish towel. 

Danny pointed at the hand towel. He couldn’t break him of the habit. Moku twined around Danny’s ankles mewling pitifully. 

“I know that you’ve been fed, and you had turkey,” Danny informed the evil, black kitten. Moku sat back on his heels, blue eyes wide and unblinking. “Where are Diamond and Gandalf?”

“Diamond’s in the utility room.” Steve nodded at the kitchen door, which was ajar. They kept the kittens’ food dishes in the small room because Danny hated the smell of cat food. “Gandalf is being Gandalf.”

Danny ran his senses over the house, looking for their inveterate explorer. The grey kitten had somehow managed to clamber up the stairs and was in Steve’s music room. Their climbing skills increased daily, exponentially. Vel was curled up in her dog bed on the lanai. He expanded his scan. 

“You okay?” Steve tossed the towel onto the counter. “You’re pacing.” 

“Do you sense anything?” 

Steve froze, head cocking to the side. His eyes drifted slightly down and to the right, and his lips pursed. He was definitely pinging. 

“And?”

“Happy, content people. Mrs. Donavan is… has had a glass of wine, I guess. Mr. Kalo--” The furrow between Steve’ eyebrows deepened. “Sebastian has a visitor, don’t know him.”

“Stop before you give yourself a headache. Do you still have a headache?” Danny snapped on the heels of that thought. “Everything is okay, isn’t it?” 

Steve’s jaw jutted out. “If everything was okay, you would have brought George and Gracie back from Rachel’s.” 

“So what’s wrong?” Danny moved over to the kitchen windows and peered out over the lanai. Waves crashed on the strip of beach beyond. 

“I don’t know. You tell me, Danny.”

“I might be borrowing trouble. I do that,” Danny said, with reluctant honesty. The sea foam was rising high. “My skin is crawling.” 

“Okay.” Steve stalked out of the kitchen. 

Danny was hot on his heels. They didn’t go far; to the cubby hole under the stairs. Steve handed Danny his Kevlar vest. And without arguing, Danny shrugged into it. He didn’t feel better, but he liked the weight of the material around his rib cage. The snap of Steve’s own vest fasteners one after another was profoundly satisfying. 

Danny accepted the assault rifle that Steve thrust into his hands. 

The knock on the door made them both jump. 

“Geez.” Danny’s heart beat like a trip hammer. 

“Who is it?” Steve stared at the door, as if he could see through it. 

“Huh.” Danny knew the sense of the person on the other side of the door from the unoffending scent of Herban Cowboy shave cream to an addictive preference to kale smoothies. Sebastian was alone, his friend was _elsewhere_. 

He thrust the assault rifle back into Steve’s hands -- it wouldn’t do to scare their neighbour to death -- and went over to the door. He heard Steve chamber a round and couldn’t help shaking his head. Sebastian wouldn’t do anything. He had probably run out of sugar or something. 

“Danny,” Steve growled. 

Danny opened the door. 

“Hi.” Sebastian stood deliberately at the bottom of the veranda steps, shoulders rounded. “Sorry to bother you. But well, uhm.”

“You okay, Seb?” Danny asked. He stared straight over the top of Sebastian’s head to the tall, broad- shouldered white guy, standing at parade rest on the other side of the flowered trellis at the boundary of their home. The man stared back at Danny, pale blue eyes in a chiselled face, weighing him. 

“I’m fine,” Sebastian obfuscated. “I’ll get straight to the point.” 

The unknown guy snorted. 

“That’s my sentinel, Jim, and my name isn’t Sebastian, it’s Blair.” 

**The end**  



End file.
